


(say the word)

by the_sound_of_inevitability



Category: Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Johnny Lawrence, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29810253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sound_of_inevitability/pseuds/the_sound_of_inevitability
Summary: “I should pull you out of the tournament,” Kreese says, and that’s when Johnny finally meets his sensei’s cruel eyes. “You are not fit to compete.”Johnny’s mind whirls and half a heartbeat later, so does he - straight into Kreese’s left fist. The blow bursts across his wounded eye. Johnny, blinded by pain, immediately turns back to face the mirror wall. There is no possibility of retaliation.“You’ve been sloppy, Mr Lawrence. Very sloppy indeed. You’ve let your fascination with that boy interfere with your training and now,” he inhales through his teeth, “you want to make Cobra Kai the laughing stock of this town.”
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	(say the word)

**Author's Note:**

> A one-shot fic based on Johnny's POV. Takes place from the confrontation in the CK dojo to the final. 
> 
> Mostly canon-compliant with a lot of ignorance and internalized homophobia on Johnny's part. I've tagged it as Lawrusso but nothing happens in this fic beyond Johnny being an idiot about the whole thing.

"So that’s the one.”

“Sensei?”

Kreese is stalking around the dojo like a lion, hands tucked up against his chest, holding the lapels of his own gi. Johnny, standing at the top of the mat, watches as Kreese’s reflection walks behind his own, and ignores the lick of fear that snakes down his spine. 

“The wop. He did this to you.”

Johnny looks at himself in the mirror, gaze trailing over the green shadow around his eye socket. He’s never heard the word wop outside of movies, but he knows who Kreese means. The idea that LaRusso could have done this to him nearly makes him laugh.

“No, sensei,” he says. “The old man did this.”

_ To all of us _ , he doesn’t say. It’s been a long five years in the Cobra Kai dojo, and Johnny has learned when to talk, and when to keep quiet. Pain is an effective teacher.

“Not the eye.” Kreese replies, but doesn’t elaborate. He reaches the side of the mat, and turns to walk toward the mirror wall. “I’m disappointed in you, Mr Lawrence.”

Johnny’s stomach twists, and it takes every ounce of effort to keep his eyes locked on his reflection. 

“I should pull you out of the tournament,” Kreese says, and that’s when Johnny finally meets his sensei’s cruel eyes. “You are not fit to compete.”

Johnny’s mind whirls and half a heartbeat later, so does he - straight into Kreese’s left fist. The blow bursts across his wounded eye. Johnny, blinded by pain, immediately turns back to face the mirror wall. There is no possibility of retaliation. 

Kreese tucks his hand back into his gi and continues as if nothing has happened. 

“I thought it was that girl,” he says, and resumes his circuit, “but it appears not.”

Johnny’s face twitches, and the movement - small as it is - sends a wave of new pain across his face. He watches Kreese walk the edge of the mat, towards the back of the room. 

“You’ve been sloppy, Mr Lawrence. Very sloppy indeed. You’ve let your fascination with that boy interfere with your training and now,” he inhales through his teeth, “you want to make Cobra Kai the laughing stock of this town.”

His heart skips a beat. Cobra Kai has been Johnny’s home from home for five years. Kreese - as tough as he is - is a better father figure than the asshole his mother married. Johnny is who he is because of Cobra Kai. To be pulled out of the tournament is the ultimate shame. 

“You may speak.”

He doesn’t know what he can say, but: “The title is mine to defend, sensei.”

Kreese laughs, entirely without humour. He paces across the back of the room, and turns to make his way to the front again.

“You have that title because you do as you’re told, Mr Lawrence. You have that title because I made you into a champion.”

“Yes, sensei.” He takes a leaf out of his mother’s book. Agree and submit, throw yourself on the mercy of the other and hope against hope that their mood swings again soon. 

“I may change my mind, Mr Lawrence, on one condition,” Kreese pauses at Johnny’s 4 o’clock, and gives him a flat stare in the mirror. “Stay away from the greaser.”

“Yes, sensei.” He replies immediately, ignoring the fact that he and the others have already promised this. He’ll never look at LaRusso until the tournament, if it means he can compete.

* * *

In the weeks that follow, Johnny thinks about that exchange a lot. He turns it over in his mind like a Rubik’s Cube.

He thinks about the link Kreese made between Ali and LaRusso.

He thinks about the word ‘fascination’. 

* * *

As November slides toward December, his fellow Cobras become more restless, their energy turning anticipatory. Dutch tries to spar with at least two of them every day, and even Bobby has taken to grappling during idle moments. Johnny himself feels twitchy, like his skin is three sizes too small.

They have stayed away from LaRusso, as promised, but their school is not large. Johnny sees him in the school corridors, arm around Ali more often than not, and notes the way his neck and shoulders are strung with an invisible tension. Like the Cobras, LaRusso seems to be getting more tightly wound the closer they get to the tournament.

He wants to rip LaRusso away from Ali, throw him into a locker and find out what that old man is teaching him. He wants to fight him, to feel the thud of flesh on flesh. Every day, he just clenches his fists and passes them by, ignoring the pull of the other boy’s voice. 

Fascination.

Johnny brings his fever to his training. Training that takes place every other evening, in complete disregard of their upcoming exams. Kreese, under the guise of preparation, has him fight every Cobra in the dojo during each session. 

“You are the defending champion, Mr Lawrence,” Kreese intones as Jimmy leaves the centre of the mat, nose dripping blood. Dutch rises to take Jimmy’s place. “There will be no mistakes.”

Johnny lifts his fists, imagines that Dutch’s eyes are LaRusso’s, and surges across the mat.

* * *

When he’s in bed, an ice pack against his ribs, he imagines facing LaRusso as a Cobra. It was a common daydream of his in the weeks after LaRusso’s first appearance in the dojo. How fierce he would be with Cobra training. All that anger, channeled into the way of the fist. 

The image, never too comforting to begin with, is not at all so now. Johnny sees LaRusso in the Cobra Kai tournament gi, the black fabric emphasising LaRusso’s slight build. A black headband pulls his dark hair back from his forehead. His eyes are cold, deep pools of midnight, and even in his imagination Johnny shivers.

Fascination.

* * *

He doesn’t expect to ask Ali for a truce. 

Johnny has never felt at home at the Encino Country Club; the old money members of the club have treated him mostly as an inconvenience, if not a charity case, and he sees the way they snicker behind his mother’s back. Still, he knows what he looks like. He knows he fits in at the club in appearance if not in reality, which is mostly the reason he gets dragged here.

The music is awful and Ali is still not speaking to him, and he suggests a truce without really knowing why. There is already a truce; the Cobras have not interacted with LaRusso - nor he with them - in over a month. 

If Johnny were a little more introspective, it might occur to him that he wants a break from LaRusso. He wants Ali to take him away, to get the guy out of his eyeline for just one day.

However, introspection was never Johnny Lawrence’s strong point.

He doesn’t let Ali pull away, even though he wants to leave this place just as much as she does, and thinks about Kreese.

_ “I thought it was that girl.” _

A movement, a flicker of red, and as if Johnny has summoned him telepathically LaRusso’s face appears in the kitchen window. His stomach knots. 

_ “But it appears not.” _

He forces Ali into an embrace and smashes his mouth to hers, keeping his eyes on LaRusso as he does. The feel of Ali's lips on his, and the despair on LaRusso’s face, do nothing to alleviate the tension in his stomach and he wonders what the hell he’s doing. 

Fascination. 

When Ali punches him in the face, it’s sweeter than any kiss.

* * *

Johnny surfs the wave of his anger all the way to the tournament.

He doesn't take a single hit, nor lose a single point. So far, the 1984 Tournament is turning out just like the 1983 Tournament. Last year he faced Bobby in the final and it was more like sparring in the dojo than competing.

Practically relaxing, compared to this.

He watches LaRusso jump about on the mat, body wound impossibly tight and his hands up in that stupid defence form, and Johnny gets angrier watching him. The anger fills him with strength and power so great that when he fights his opponents, he’s unstoppable. Round after round, every strike he makes hits its target dead on, and he breezes through to the semifinal with barely a hiccup.

It’s almost like 1983.

Except for LaRusso.

Except for LaRusso’s slight figure facing Johnny across every mat. He stands out in this place, with his rigid stance and the wide brown eyes that watch every fight, drinking in every movement. His white gi is like a beacon, blinding Johnny, drawing his eye no matter what direction he faces. LaRusso is doing what Johnny should be doing - watching his opponents, learning their moves and coming up with a strategy - but there’s only fear in his eyes. A grim smile crosses Johnny’s face at that. He has never feared his opponents. 

The fearful don’t survive in Cobra Kai. 

On the mat, LaRusso fights like a pussy - too much defence, not nearly enough offense - but during the first match that familiar stubbornness appears, displaces the fear on LaRusso's face. Johnny thinks about his daydream, about LaRusso in a black gi.

He watches LaRusso dart forward and slam a fist into his opponent's ribs, and a tingle goes up Johnny's spine.

Fascination.

* * *

When he's not fighting, Johnny sticks at Sensei Kreese’s side like a well-heeled dog. The man's solidity helps to ground him. He sneers at the other fighters. Apart from one look at LaRusso and his little posse when they entered the arena, Kreese has been more focused on growling words of encouragement to his Cobras, and Johnny tries to follow his lead. He makes comments about the other fighters, tries to ignore what LaRusso is doing. He cheers for Bobby when his friend takes down his opponent, and hopes that they’ll face each other again in the final.

After his first round, it’s Cobras all the way down for LaRusso. Johnny watches his brothers step up the mat, one by one, and one by one he watches LaRusso find some chink, some crack in their defence and take them down.

By the time LaRusso fights Tommy, Johnny’s anger is starting to turn to nausea. Tommy scores the first point with a punch to the ribs.

LaRusso bends double in pain and Johnny smirks.  _ This is it _ . 

The feeling is short-lived. LaRusso gets in two quick strikes, and there's a sinking feeling in Johnny's chest as Tommy gets cocky and sidles just a little too close to that white-clad nightmare. LaRusso ends the match with a final quick blow and Tommy bellows with fury and disbelief, but he’s out.

And LaRusso is through to the quarter finals. One step closer to Johnny.

Johnny wants to barrel onto the mat and throw LaRusso to the ground. Kick the shit out of him, stamp his fire out so that the little prick never crosses his path again, never endangers himself again. He can practically feel the lapels of LaRusso's gi, how the fabric would feel in his grip, and his hands clench into fists.

Fascination.

* * *

Then it's Dutch's turn.

He feels odd, watching him fight with LaRusso. The dark and light figures circle each other, like some fucked up mirror, and Johnny again thinks  _ this is it _ . He doesn't feel ashamed for hoping Dutch will end it. His friend hates LaRusso more than he does. 

And yet, Dutch wasn't the one told to stay away from LaRusso.

Dutch isn't the one with the fascination.

Dutch falls to LaRusso.

Kreese turns away and Johnny, feeling sick, copies him.

He beats Duval in the semi-final, just like 1983. After the match, they shake hands, and Johnny walks into the congratulatory arms of his brothers. They are deliriously happy and raucous with it, slapping his back and grabbing his arms. Their touch is like a balm to his steadily fraying nerves. This is the way it always is, after a fight.

He manages a ghost of a smile, before turning to look across the floor.

As ever, LaRusso is looking, eyes intent on his. Johnny can’t even summon the strength to give him a smirk. The anger swells under his skin. A drop of sweat rolls down his spine, under the gi. He grabs LaRusso’s gaze and holds it.

Fascination.

* * *

Bobby will end it, for sure.

* * *

The horror on Bobby's face is everything Johnny feels and more.

"Out of commission." Kreese’s voice is low, a bombardment disguised as thunder. 

Johnny wonders if this is to do with him; if Kreese doesn’t want him to fight LaRusso. If LaRusso is taken out of the match, and Bobby is disqualified, Johnny has already won. 

Johnny's hands clench and unclench at his sides. He has no idea what Bobby is going to do; his friend doesn't take pleasure in mindless violence the way Dutch does, but he's not disobedient. 

Bobby doesn’t look happy, but he goes up onto the mat. Johnny looks back and forth between his friend and his sensei, waiting for Kreese to give some silent signal that means he was only joking.

But he never jokes. 

LaRusso bows, and after a split second Bobby follows suit. He is the first Cobra to bow to LaRusso equally, and that more than anything tips Johnny off. His blood turns to ice.

Bobby runs at LaRusso and leaps into a flying kick, aimed straight at his left knee. Johnny takes a step forward and bites back a cry. Kreese has not moved.

LaRusso collapses to the ground, knee shattered, screaming in pain. Bobby has fallen with him. He bends over the smaller fighter, hands grabbing at his gi, beseeching. Trying to apologise.

Johnny hears the genuine anguish in his friend’s voice, and understands. Ali had been wrong. It isn’t all fighting. 

In a flash, Johnny sees LaRusso as a Cobra again, but this time the vision is different. Sparring in the dojo with the others. Riding bikes through the forests, down the beach. Drinking under the stars by a campfire, trading stories.

Cobra Kai, for all its hardness, has given Johnny so much more than fights. They beat the shit out of each other, it's true, but there's affection there. Every punch, every kick, has its counterweight outside the dojo; an arm slung around shoulders, a familiar embrace. 

If Johnny were a little more introspective, it might occur to him that every blow he landed on Daniel LaRusso was looking for its counterweight. That the only way Johnny knew how to be affectionate was to strike first, and give comfort later.

However, introspection was never Johnny Lawrence’s strong point.

Bobby passes the Cobras on the way out of the ring, and throws his black belt at Kreese’s feet. His face is contorted with disgust and he doesn’t speak to any of his former teammates, nor slow his pace. Johnny watches him leave. 

* * *

Anger gives way to elation.

The trophy is his; Bobby is banned for life, but LaRusso is out of the tournament. Johnny doesn’t have to fight him. He doesn’t have to prove Kreese right about… whatever it is Kreese thinks. None of it matters.

He doesn’t have to fight LaRusso again.

Three-time All-Valley Champion, here he comes.

* * *

“Daniel LaRusso’s gonna fight?”

The look Kreese gives him is pure venom.

* * *

The first point goes to LaRusso.

* * *

And the second.

* * *

Kreese’s thumb is not careful; he presses hard against Johnny’s upper lip to wipe the blood away and Johnny tries to stop tears from springing to his eyes. 

“Sweep the leg.”

That nausea again. He doesn’t argue that he can beat him, as Bobby did - he realises that his fighting is off, somehow. There’s no way LaRusso is succeeding where every other fighter has failed. He could argue beginner’s luck, or some magical karate that the old man taught him, has helped him win against his other opponents, but Johnny is beyond all of them. 

The problem is with Johnny. He’s distracted. Careless. 

Fascinated.

But to attack LaRusso’s injury? 

It’s nothing they don’t do regularly in Cobra Kai. The Cobras learn quickly to disguise weakness, to shrug off damage so as not to give their opponent the advantage. 

However, this is still a tournament, and Johnny wants to be champion again. Sweeping an injured leg could get him disqualified.

Never mind that the thought of knocking LaRusso’s leg even more out of alignment makes his gorge rise.

Kreese’s eyes harden. “You got a problem with that?”

He’s got a big fucking problem with that.

“No, sensei.”

* * *

Johnny sweeps the leg.

And strikes.

Point - Lawrence.

* * *

Johnny sweeps the leg.

And strikes.

Point - Lawrence.

* * *

It’s just another fight. That’s all it is. Another road bump on the way to victory.

It doesn’t quite explain the frenzy in Johnny’s attacks. He spits out kiais like machine-gun fire as he lunges forward, always forward. LaRusso is constantly on the back foot, trying to back away from his ferocity.

He doesn’t think, and if he moves fast enough, he won’t have to think. If he strikes first, strikes hard, he won’t have to think about the fact that LaRusso is half his size. That he limps with every step, and the sheen on his forehead can only be from agony. If he doesn’t think, LaRusso is just a white blur, one of many white blurs Johnny has faced and beaten today.

Johnny kicks high, with his right foot, and LaRusso blocks from the inside with his whole arm. For a split second, he feels the warmth of LaRusso’s arm all the way up on the inside of his leg, and finally looks properly into his dark, watching eyes. He’s not afraid, just anticipatory, and Johnny wonders how he can be so calm.

Fascination.

He doesn’t think - just punches LaRusso across the face. There’s no point in it. The crowd erupts in boos and heckling, and the sound tears at Johnny. He doesn’t fight to be liked, but that’s not the same as being hated. He turns and drops to his knees.

LaRusso gets up, because he always gets up. That’s his problem. He never just backs down. No matter what Johnny does, LaRusso gets up and keeps fighting. The idiot kicks with his injured leg, and the anger in Johnny swells monstrously as he catches it.

He’s fast, switching his hold from left to right and raising his elbow. LaRusso tenses, trying to pull back, but Johnny has him.

He has enough time to see the fear in his eyes, but not enough time to stop.

He strikes.

* * *

He wants it to be over. More than he wants the trophy.

So when he sees LaRusso lift up into the crane stance, he thinks,  _ fuck it _ .

And lunges forward.

* * *

“You’re alright, LaRusso,” he says, and means it.

“Good match,” he says, and means it.

_ I’m done fighting you, Daniel, _ Johnny thinks, and means it.


End file.
